Yesterday the husband and I weeded the garden. Focused on strawberry beds. I sat on the ground for at least 2 hours. Sometime during which an unknown insect buIt the holy crap out of my arm. Didn't feel it as it happened but today it is quite swollen, red, and itchy. Ants?

When my granddaughter moves away I will need to reinvent myself, fill up time that was filled with Anah. A trip, a project, a class, ? Focus solely on writing? I've grieved for months. Healing will come. I'd like to have some ideas on hand for when I'm me again, when my Muse will return, when I'm ready.

As I laid on my bed last night I thought about autobiographical posts, a recording for when I can no longer remember.

When I organized my art journals today I thought maybe some collage.

I often think too much and don't actually do anything. That will change. I can change. I will.

But oh gosh I miss her already.

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Thinking and dreaming and planning, writing stories, is probably 90% of my art world and maybe 10% of it comes to be. I think it is a good thing and an okay thing to do. It's something I enjoy so much...the daydreaming part.

I think earthmother is right. We sometimes berate ourselves over lack of productivity and the daydreamy part of the artist's life is a sort of easy, lethargic target. (And, not coincidentally I think, it's what others will sometimes pick on when they're being critical of us.)

But it seems to me that it's really from that state of mind that so much of my own best work has come and so I think we should not only allow that to exist, uncritiqued, in our lives, but, as she suggests, cherish and enjoy it...